


magnetic voyager

by andorgyny



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-21
Updated: 2014-04-21
Packaged: 2018-01-20 07:55:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1502690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andorgyny/pseuds/andorgyny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I will call," she promises, even as she reaches for the door. Turns around, grins up at this fantastical man with his hearts in the stars. "If you triple dog dare me."</p>
            </blockquote>





	magnetic voyager

“We’re all ghosts to you,” she’d said, earlier, and had marveled at the haunted look in his mossy green eyes.

She’s not surprised to find out there have been others, before her, but it’s still a bit heartbreaking to watch him talk about them, the stories he can stomach.

“I’ve never not told a companion about my past, at least not since Rose,” he murmurs, his gaze lingering on a pretty blonde hologram in a pink jacket, all eyeliner and pouty lips as she stands by the console of this stubborn, grumpy old ship.

“It isn’t fair, I suppose, to drag you along without a proper understanding. A… sort of crash course in traveling with this silly old man. Martha knew right away,” the Doctor says quickly, sadly, and the image of the blonde woman shifts to that of a black woman with long braids, a woman who holds herself like a soldier.

“Dr. Martha Jones–you might meet her someday, if you’re lucky. Martha and Mickey, Smith and Jones,” he adds, a quirk of his thin lips joins the subtle humor in his voice, and a handsome black man buzzes into existence beside the woman’s image. “And her genius of an idiot of a husband.”

The pictures fade from view as the Doctor rounds on her. “This is the truth. I leave people behind. And they leave me. You will, someday, leave me.” He smiles down at her. “I hope it’s not for a long, long time, Clara Oswald. I hope you get your choice, when the time comes. And I hope you’ll ring tomorrow,” he continues. “We’ve got a date to keep with Mr. Pablo Neruda–ah yes, I saw that text on Latin America on your shelf.”

While it’s slightly disconcerting to think that the Doctor’s rummaged through her university things, the excitement begins to well up inside of her. She stays silent for a moment and fiddles with the clasp on her purse.

She’s already lost so much–a leaf with history in its veins, the sort of innocence that wraps you up and keeps you safe. But security and whimsy can coexist, even with the Doctor in tow.

“I will call,” she promises, even as she reaches for the door. Turns around–grins up at this fantastical man with his hearts in the stars. “If you triple dog dare me.”

He laughs, hopelessly charmed by the sheer life in her, and she’s off to the real world, at least until the simmering wanderlust in her blood comes to a boil.

In the end, it only takes a matter of hours. She can’t possibly stay away.

~

They end up picnicing with the great poet during his exile in Argentina, 1949.

“You’ve changed your face again, Sir Doctor,” Pablo says, before glancing over at Clara. “Ah, but somethings never change. Always a fascinating specimen of humanity in tow.”

“I’m Clara. I love your work,” she (reluctantly) gushes, grinning from ear to ear. He raises an eyebrow.

“But do you follow it? Even in your world? A world of white skin and painted faces and imperialist pseudo-liberalism?”

“There’s always Google translations.”

He chuckles. “I’ve no godly idea what a google is, my dear, and I have a feeling, from the Doctor’s face, that I’m not supposed to know.”

She frowns. Right. 1949. She’s not great with history, but she’s pretty sure it’ll be a while before the internet bursts into being.

“Oops. Can we just, I dunno, forget about that little slip-up?”

They end up saving the city from a very angry pitcher of sangria she quickly realizes looks an awful lot like the Kool Aid Man. In the end, Pablo sighs and jots down a few words in her book.

Later, she reads them aloud to the Doctor. “In the wave-strike over unquiet stones / the brightness bursts and bears the rose / and the ring of water contracts to a cluster / to one drop of azure brine that falls.”

For the first time, he doesn’t say anything as she leaves, just seems to languish in the words, inhale their scent as they cross her lips. Exhale, and they’re out the door at her heels.

~

There are close calls and leisure planets; there’s a world made entirely out of mirrors that shatter with each step you take. She gets seven years of bad luck times two minus three and a soy chocolate ice cream cone for dessert.

“Didn’t I say? This particular planet is strictly vegan,” the Doctor says before leaning over and stealing some of her treat, long tongue nearly swiping her sticky fingers in his haste.

She protests, even as her cheeks flush with delight.

~

The TARDIS still grumbles at her. But that’s okay–because she’s got a hand to hold, and a key around her neck on a chain she bought for five quid.

* * *


End file.
